


The Merchant Prince

by Eleanor Green (eldestmuse)



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Dhemlan, Fraud, Gen, Intruige, Terreille
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldestmuse/pseuds/Eleanor%20Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baxter Kent is a Rose Jeweled Prince from a Territory bordering Dhemlan Terreille. His father and son both wear the Red, but Baxter is the heir--and day-to-day manager--of the family's large business concern. The tensions within the family may seem minor compared to their relative wealth, but every success has its price... and the Kents have enemies they haven't considered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Merchant Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [Blood Rites](forums.bloodrites.net/index.php), a BJT RPG, but I assure you it's self-contained. Edited to take place in the same time period (but not the same Territory) as [AFTER THE WITCH STORM](http://archiveofourown.org/works/169303), and as such should be canon up through THE HIGH LORD'S DAUGHTER to the best of my ability.

**one**

There were advantages to taking Blaze with him on the trip north, other than the obvious training that Baxter would be able to impart to his son. Since Blaze wore the Red, they would be able to shave off quite a bit of time. The Winds, those psychic roadways that allowed the Blood to travel the Realm, were much denser—and faster—the darker the Wind. There were coaches, of course, that were available to transport the Blood. His family even manufactured some for export to other Territories. But no one who wore a dark Jewel was foolish enough to waste their potential by driving one—not as a job at least.

Transporting family on special occasions was acceptable.

They weren’t taking a coach today, though, not even one with Blaze at the metaphorical reins. Blaze just slipped a Red shield around his father and together they rode it north toward the Dhemlan border. Since they rode the Red, they were able to land much closer to their destination than Baxter would have otherwise been able to manage.

Instead of heading straight to the factorage, however, Baxter led his son and heir to a small café on the same street. It was close enough to the border to serve tea.

“Never pass up an opportunity to have a drink here, son,” Baxter said jovially as they took a seat by the window. “You can’t get spiced tea like this anywhere else in the Territory—and believe me, I’ve tried. I even tried to buy the recipe from the proprietress, but she refuses to sell.”

Before Blaze could reply, sharp, amused laughter rang out from behind the counter. “Ha! If you could get it at home you wouldn’t come here,” said the witch, “and if you got your grubby little hands on it, you’d set up competing shops and then how would I feed my brats?”

Baxter put his hands over his heart. “I would never.”

She sniffed. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t at that. But you’d for sure stop making excuses to come north.”

He grinned. “Would you miss me?”

“Your marks,” she retorted, but even a stranger could tell she didn’t mean it. She caught the boy’s eye and winked. “Your father lent me the marks to start this place,” she explained.

“Even that didn’t charm her into sharing the recipe,” he said mournfully.

While they talked, she fixed two big, steaming cups of fresh brewed tea and set them on the table without asking what either wanted. It was then that she caught the Green Jeweled ring on Blaze’s hand. She paled a little, so little it was hardly noticeable, before she recovered her aplomb. “And you must be Blaze,” she said. “I thought you’d be younger, Lord.”

“Sorry to disappoint, Lady,” he said in a reserved tone that was too self-confident to really be called shy, but could definitely be considered distant.

She offered a hesitant, nervous smile before slipping back to the counter.

*Put up a psychic shield,* Baxter told his son on a spear-to-spear thread.

*Not aural?* the boy asked, surprise suffusing the psychic communication.

*I won’t insult her like that,* Baxter explained, his tone heavily implying that such a thing should have been obvious. Then, he softened the chastisement. *Besides, I still want to be able to communicate with the other people here, if need be—and hear what’s going on around me.*

It was clear that Blaze didn’t completely understand, but his darker Jewels didn’t make him willing to tangle with his father—at least, not over this. He put up a Red psychic shield, protecting their psychic scents and preventing anyone from getting a sense of their emotions—or the psychic threads being sent back and forth between father and son.

*Do you understand what’s about to happen?* Baxter asked his son.

*I think so, sir.*

Unlike himself when he was younger, Blaze didn’t seem to chafe under the firm grip his forebears kept on the family business. Either he was less impatient than seemed possible for a twenty one year old male, or he was very good at hiding it. Baxter wasn’t sure which he would prefer.

*Repeat it back to me,* Baxter ordered because, as much as he hated to admit it, his father’s teaching style worked. And now that he thought about it, Blaze was about the age he’d been when Bertram introduced him to Arielle. Perhaps he should start seeking a suitable woman for his son, but that was a matter for another time. It was best they both focus on the matter at hand.

*Yes sir. Grandfather is concerned that some of the accounts coming out of the factorage aren’t what they should be. You and he suspect either embezzlement or a cover up to hide losses that shouldn’t be happening. There is little direct proof, which is why we are here and wearing our Birthright Jewels instead of letting me wear the Red. We don’t want to spook them.*

*We don’t need the Red to handle this problem,* Baxter told his son. Not that he was sensitive about the fact that his father and his son both wore the Red and he the Rose. It wasn't like he worried about his father skipping over him in the succession. Not at all. *And if there is anyone who hasn’t heard that you made your Offering, I see no reason to educate them as to your mature strength. If you chose the proper moment to reveal it, the Red will be an even more powerful tool than it already is.*

*Yes, Father.*

Baxter nodded. “Now, tell me what you think of the tea.”

Blaze grinned like the boy he wasn’t long from being. “It’s excellent, Father. As you know.”

“Sometimes I wonder if funding this place wasn’t the investment I ever made,” he said.

“You should get a cup for Mother when we’re ready to leave,” Blaze suggested. “Riding the Winds with me, a warming spell should keep it hot long enough to get home.”

“An excellent idea, son,” Baxter said, beaming.

 **two**

Fortified with tea, Baxter opened the door to the factorage using Craft and preceded his eldest son inside the building. The front room was relatively small, with a few plush chairs to accommodate anyone who needed to wait. Much of the large building, which was located at the very end of the street, was given over to the warehousing goods he bought and sold for the Kent mercantile empire.

Guarding the door was a young man seated behind a long, wooden desk that had been crafted by a master carpenter of sturdy but unremarkable materials. Carved into the front of the desk was the paw print of a wolf superimposed over a carriage wheel; the Kent family seal. Unlike his desk at home, the carriage wheel wasn’t inlaid with gold leaf and the print wasn’t painted the color of blood. Regardless, it marked the office as a branch of the larger family business.

Baxter couldn’t remember the young man’s name, but he recognized his face. Though he had the psychic scent of a Blood male, he didn’t wear a Jewel. Judging by the way he blanched when Baxter walked into the room, he recognized Baxter in return. “P-p-prince Kent,” he stuttered, standing and sketching an awkward bow from behind the desk. He cleared his throat. “And Lord Kent. You didn’t send word ahead that you’d be coming,” and the young secretary was clearly flustered by that fact. “How may I be of service?”

Also guarding the door were Yellow psychic and aural shields, though Baxter didn’t sense anything to indicate that there was a psychical shield over the room. Apparently, Alden Webb trusted his secretary to keep anyone from barging into the room unless it was important—in which case the young man would need to be able to barge into the room.

“You can direct me to Lord Webb,” Baxter answered smoothly, deliberately failing to take note of the young man’s nervousness.

“Lord Webb is currently in a meeting with a prospective client,” he said. Obviously torn between conflicting duties—to the man who owned the business and to the boss with whom he worked every day—he added hesitantly, “Is it urgent?”

If the man was meeting with a prospective client, it would be foolish to jeopardize a deal by barging into what might be a delicate negotiation session and throw his weight around. Besides, there was no reason to tip him off that his presence might be a serious matter. “No,” he said. “We’ll wait.”

Baxter and his son took seats in the corner, facing each door.

*Surprisingly comfortable chairs,* Blaze told his father on a Red-to-Rose thread.

*They had better be,* Baxter replied. *The first time I was here I told Lord Webb to replace the shabby ones that used to be here. No one is in a good mood to negotiate after waiting on a chair that’s lumpy and hard.*

*It’s good that he listened.*

*Maybe. If he hadn’t the family wouldn’t have chosen him to be our agent here—and then we might not have needed to travel here today.*

*On the other hand, I might not have gotten to try that tea.*

The delicate psychic scent of Baxter’s amusement floated briefly on the air. *There is that.*

 **three**

The man who exited Lord Webb's office had the golden eyes and beardless cheeks of the long-lived races, but his skin was too light to be Hayllian and he lacked the wings of an Eyrien. Dhemlan Blood weren't unknown this far north in the Territory, there were even a few half-bloods he knew about. Besides, they were, after all, in a factorage owned by a merchant house. He could be there on legitimate trading business. Baxter himself had traveled to other Territories when high-level negotiations had been necessary.

It would have made perfect sense for the man to have been a perfectly innocuous trader, but Baxter's instincts had been honed at his father's knee.

*If that Warlord is a trader, I'll eat my shoe,* Blaze sent him on a narrow psychic thread.

Baxter wanted to beam with fatherly pride. He hadn't needed to prompt his son at all.

*Mark his appearance well,* Baxter sent back. *Just in case.* He knew he didn't have to elaborate.

*There can't be too many Yellow Jeweled Warlords from Dhemlan who might find this factorage useful,* Blaze added as they stood.

Lord Webb's secretary gestured them into the office, presumably after offering his employer warning via a psychic thread. *Or vice versa,* Baxter suggested with ominous overtones to the warning.

Lord Webb stood to greet the second and third most important men in the entire Kent mercantile empire. The Yellow Jewel at his throat outranked the White ring Baxter wore, but the Prince wasn't worried; even if his son hadn't been standing beside him with a reservoir of Green at his throat, he doubted Lord Webb could surprise him so much that he wouldn't have time to call in the Rose.

"Prince," Lord Webb said, acknowledging his superior politely but without the full formality required by Protocol. Since they were known to one another and had a working relationship, Baxter let it slide. When he turned to meet Blaze's eyes the factor said, "Young Lord Kent."

Baxter felt his son bristle at the condescension and hoped the factor wouldn't notice. Blaze leashed the emotion as soon as he noticed the stiffening in his father's spine. The air was bereft of the scent of their emotions, at least. At 21, he felt like an adult male, a man, deserving of a man's respect and the respect worthy of the heir to a fortune. He understood why his father and grandfather didn't want knowledge of his Offering to spread, but sometimes it was hard for him to reign in a young man's ego.

"Lord Webb," Baxter replied. Blaze said nothing, as it was his role to observe. He was his father's apprentice, his student, not his partner. Not yet.

"What can I do for you?"

Baxter's voice chilled, just a little. The flicker of fear in the factor's eyes was just one reason some people called him the Axe when his back was turned. "You can offer us a seat."

Lord Webb paled. "O-o-of course," he stammered. "Will you be here long? I can have refreshments--"

"That won't be necessary," Baxter said. The factor relaxed until Baxter added, "Let's just get down to business."

 **four**

"What business are you here to discuss, Prince Kent?" the factor asked Baxter.

"My father sent me to look into some concerns he has with the accounts," Baxter said neutrally. Somehow, he wasn't surprised by the acrid psychic scent of fear that suddenly began drifting through the room.

"What kind of concerns?"

Baxter called in his copy of the accounts from the factorage, taken from his study that morning. Small adhesive tabs, labeled in his father's handwriting, poked out from various places in the leather-bound book to mark important pages. He flipped open to one, theatrically slid his finger down to a highlighted passage, and then nodded. When he looked up, Lord Webb's jaw was a little slack. Gently, Baxter suggested he get his own copy of the accounts from last season. "I'll wait," he promised.

"I'll have them brought in," he said. Frankly, Baxter was surprised he didn't try to take the opportunity to bolt--perhaps after the Dhemlan male who had just left. He probably hadn't caught one of the winds yet.

While they waited for the secretary to arrive with the previous season's records, the three males sat in silence.

*I'm surprised he isn't sweating,* Blaze sent in a Red to Rose thread.

*I'm sure he knows a few cooling spells,* his father replied.

Before Blaze could make a suitably snarky reply, the secretary brought in the accounts and it was time to focus on business.

"Tell me about this entry," Baxter said. Only a fool would have taken it as a suggestion.

Lord Webb smiled nervously. "What is there to tell?" he asked. "We bought a shipment of art from Dhemlan. It's perfectly normal."

"You never sold it," Baxter said.

"And there is no Dhemlan art in the warehouse," Blaze added.

That startled the factor into blurting, "How do you know that?"

Blaze stared at him for a solid thirty seconds, until a single bead of sweat dripped down Lord Webb's forehead. "I looked," he said.

Baxter sighed. "I obviously made a mistake in hiring you," he said. "In some ways that's more my fault than yours really. I feel bad about it. We might have had a use for a man who could manipulate accounts, knew double bookkeeping, that kind of thing. It's an underrated skill. But frankly, you're not very good at it. And if we can't trust you and we can't use you... we don't want you."

"What are you saying?" Lord Webb asked, wide-eyed.

"You stink of fear and you're incompetent. Get out," Blaze snapped.

The ex-factor's jaw dropped. He shot to his feet. "You're firing me?" he gasped.

"You're surprised?"

"You don't have proof of anything!"

"I don't need proof. But I do have a question."

Lord Webb just blinked.

"Was the Dhemlan man helping you, or the other way around?"

"Wh-what?"

"I can break open your inner barriers and find out," Baxter pointed out.

Lord Webb slumped, deflated. "It was his idea."

"What was his name?"

"I don't know his real name."

Baxter triple-shielded the room--psychic, aural, and physical--and looked at his son, who nodded and began to pry open the ex-factor's inner barriers. "Find out everything there is to know about this situation," he ordered. "I want to know who else thought it would be a good idea to rob us."

"Yes, Father."

Knowing that his son could handle that task, he began to look over Lord Webb's copy of the books to see if there was anything else incriminating.

 **five**

Baxter believed the pale secretary when he swore he hadn’t known about his boss’ extracurricular activities or the way he had been trying to defraud the Kents. More importantly, because he had allowed Blaze to make the call here, his son believed him.

“Do you think you’re qualified to take over as the factor here?” Blaze asked in an idle voice. He was still wearing his Birthright Jewel, but the secretary wasn’t the fool his former boss had been.

Baxter knew the answer, but he had met the man before, had spent days studying the situation at this particular factorage. He approved of Blaze’s asking—even if he had his own opinion, which he probably did, knowing the man’s self-analysis could be helpful. It might even help reduce the potential resentment he might feel at being passed over for a promotion.

“N-no, Lord. I am a good assistant, can handle things for a few days, but I haven’t got the training to—”

Blaze held up a hand, cutting him off. “Can you keep a lid on things here, then?”

He nodded sharply. “I often did so when Lord Webb was out of town.”

“I see,” Blaze said, lips tight. “Then you’ll have to do so again.”

“It isn’t a problem.”

“Good. See to it, then. Someone will be here to take over within a few days.”

“I will have everything in order,” the secretary promised.

“I’ll count on it,” Blaze said. With that, the young man led the way out of the factorage.

Once they were outside with the door closed behind him, Blaze let out a careful sigh. *Did I handle that right?* he asked his father on a Red to Rose thread.

*We’ll find out,* Baxter said, carefully keeping his approval from his son.

The Warlord’s resentment flared before he managed to leash it. *What would you have done?*

*It doesn’t matter,* Baxter replied gently. *What’s done is done. Do you have someone in mind as a replacement for Lord Webb?*

The question effectively distracted his son. “No…” he said aloud.

“Think about it,” Baxter told him.

“That’s going to be my decision too?”

Baxter nodded as they walked into the café again.

“I’m about to close up, Prince Kent,” the proprietress said, disgruntled.

“Sorry, Lady,” Baxter said contritely.

“Our business took longer than expected,” Blaze added.

“I saw the factor leave,” the Lady acknowledged as she began preparing a pot of tea. “But that was hours ago.”

“He won’t be returning,” Baxter told her.

“Ah, I see. Well, I certainly won’t miss the snooty old bugger, but will the factorage remain open?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good,” said the shopkeeper with a sharp nod of her head. It sent loose tendrils of hair into her eyes. “Would be a shame if we lost the merchant business.”

“Has a Yellow Jeweled Dhemlan Warlord every come in here?” Blaze interjected.

“No…” the witch answered after a moment’s consideration. “Not that I recall.” Then she started to pour a cup of tea.

Baxter stopped her. “We’ll take the whole pot,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “You know it’s not as good reheated.”

“We should be home in time for it to still be hot.”

“Ah,” she said, glancing instinctively toward Blaze’s Birthright. “Still, you can’t expect me to just give you my teapot.”

“I promise I’ll bring it back.”

She snorted. “You’ll bring back two,” she directed.

“Yes, Lady.”

She handed over the pot filled with spiced tea, securing the lid with her hand. “Mind you don’t spill it,” she directed.

Blaze took it and used a dollop of Red power to wrap it in a warming spell and shield it against spillage, which should keep it warm and in the pot until he and his father returned home to his mother. “Thank you,” he said as Baxter offered enough marks to cover the purchase.

“You’re welcome,” she said, then added, “Now get out of here so that I can go home too.”

“Yes, Lady,” both males said, then hurried out to catch the Red wind.

 **six**

"You agreed to bring her an extra teapot?" Blaze asked once they were outside of the shop. He was obviously surprised and trying to hide it.

Baxter smiled to himself. Blaze might be growing up, a man now with a man's strength, in body and in Jewels -- his Red certainly could have overpowered Baxter's own Rose -- but he was still Baxter's son, and the older man could read him like a book, as easily as when he was just a young boy trying to cover up for a broken vase.

"It's only fair," Baxter told him. "She won't have the use of this one for quite some time, though I'll have it sent back by messenger once your mother is finished with it rather than wait until the next time you or I travel north again."

"But I thought I was to be choosing the new factor here," Blaze said. "Surely I'll be returning soon enough for it not to make a difference."

"You needn't come in person to see to the replacement," Baxter said, waving a somewhat dismissive hand. "It's a relatively routine matter, at the core of it."

"Yes, father."

Baxter smiled. "Now come, let's take that home to your mother."

This time, Blaze didn't reply, he just wrapped a Red shield around the both of them and caught the Red Wind south, toward the family's home. Baxter's father had chosen the location of the mansion specifically because of its proximity toward the Red Wind, for all that he was the only one who could take true advantage of it--or perhaps for exactly that reason. The two men landed on the landing web at the end of the driveway, then walked on gravel to the front porch.

Blaze offered the teapot to his father. Baxter took it, raising an eyebrow. "It was your idea to bring some back for your mother, and your spell that kept it warm."

"You'll be the one replacing the teapot," Blaze answered with a smile. "And I need to see to something in the stables."

Baxter repressed a frown, wondering what his son was up to, but he didn't ask. He was focused on finding his wife, and Blaze was old enough to take care of himself. "Alright then, son. I'll see you at dinner."

Blaze nodded before heading around to the side of the house.


End file.
